


Denial is Sweet

by fizzygingr



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baking, Cooking, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 12:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8801464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzygingr/pseuds/fizzygingr
Summary: Set in a Star Wars AU where nothing bad ever happens to anyone and Anakin and Padmé get to raise their children. Six-year-old Luke helps Daddy bake Mommy a birthday cake and nothing remotely sad happens.





	

“Daddy!” said Luke, laughing in surprise. “You look like a ghost!”

Anakin would have shooed Luke out of the room if he didn’t have egg goop all over one hand and instant bread flour all over the other. He didn’t know why he was still trying to protect the kitchen; the counter was already littered with eggshells and spilt sugar, batter was dripping onto the floor, and his own face was completely white after attempting to open the flour bag.

He sighed. The six years since the twins were born had taught him more about acceptance than the Jedi ever had. 

“Come on in, buddy,” he said.

Luke crossed his arms and surveyed the mess, trying to figure out what, exactly, he was supposed to be helping with. 

“Are you cooking?” he asked.

“Trying to.” Anakin wiped the egg goop hand on his robes, then went over to the sink to wash his hands.

He realized too late that it was his prosthetic hand that was covered with instant flour. The hand with all the cracks and crevices in the joints. Upon making contact with the water, the flour rapidly expanded, turning his hand into a loaf of bread with now-useless bits of metal scattered throughout. Luke giggled. Anakin attempted a facepalm and ended up smacking bread into his nose.

“It’s for Mommy’s birthday,” he explained to Luke. “I thought I’d make her a cake.”

“Do you know how to make a cake?”

“Apparently not.”

Padmé had always been the cook in the family. It wasn’t that Anakin couldn’t cook; in fact, he’d done quite a bit of it growing up. But “cooking” to him meant zapping a protein square and adding water to anything that came powdered. Padmé, meanwhile, had started taking culinary lessons when she was nine. They had agreed very early in their marriage to play to their respective strengths.

“I know how!” said Luke, puffing out his chest.

Anakin smiled. “You do?”

“Yeah!” he declared, “I help Mommy cook all the time!”  
“Well,” said Anakin, “maybe you can help me.” He told himself he was humoring the kid, but if he was going to be completely honest with himself, Luke probably had a lot to teach him. Since he was three he’d been in the kitchen whenever Padmé was cooking, watching in fascination as she did...whatever it was she did.

Luke was already on the job. “First,” he said, “we need to clean this up.” He lifted his hand and, with all of his concentration, slid the entire mess on the kitchen counter two inches to the right. Bowls, spoons, and a few bags of fruit and nuts tumbled to the floor.

“Here, let me help.” Anakin flicked his wrist, and the rest of the mess joined the pile on the floor. “Nice technique, by the way. Did Auntie ‘Soka teach you that?”

“Yeah!” said Luke, beaming. “She said I’ll be better than you soon!”

Anakin raised an eyebrow. “Did she now?” he said, but Luke had already moved onto the next task.

“Now we crack the eggs!” he said, digging through the pile on the floor for one that was still intact. When he’d acquired his prize, he held it triumphantly over his head.

“This is how Mommy cracks them,” he said, and he slammed the egg against the kitchen counter. It splattered on the ceiling, the walls, and Anakin’s face.

“But,” Luke continued, pulling another egg from the pile, “I like to crack them like this!” He levitated the egg above a bowl, and then gave a push. The egg exploded like a star going supernova, spraying bits of goop and shell on every conceivable surface.

Luke gasped. “Did you see that?” he asked, looking up at his father with wide eyes.

“I did, Luke, that’s impressive!”

“And now,” said Luke, “we add the flavors!”

“What kinds of flavors?”

Luke looked at his father like he had just asked him his own name. “All of them, of course!” 

He picked up the first bottle he saw - extract of some fruit or another, and struggled with the lid. “Here,” he said, offering it up to Anakin, “open it.”

“I can’t, buddy, I’ve got bread hand!”

“Hmm,” said Luke. He put his hand to his chin, and his face turned very serious. “It won’t be a very good cake without flavors.”

“What are we going to do, then?” Anakin asked.

“I know!” said Luke, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “We’ll make a Daddy cake!”

“A Daddy cake?”

Luke picked up the bowl and threw its contents onto Anakin. “Like this!”

“Well, in that case,” said Anakin, scooping a handful of sugar from a bag, “I think we need to make a Luke cake!”

“Noooooo!” shouted Luke, giggling as he ran across the kitchen floor.

The kitchen never looked quite the same after that day; there would be sticky messes to scrub at for weeks, and stains on the walls for years. Anakin would remember it when he scraped another mess off the underside of the counter, and Luke would remember it when he shook another few grains of sugar out of his hair. Padmé never did get her birthday cake, but she did get to see Anakin and Luke giggle every time they walked past each other for the next few days, which she decided was even better.


End file.
